Filmstrips
by flourishes
Summary: He's crying. I can feel his tears. They're falling on my cheeks. His words give me strength. I'll get better. I'll wake up. I have to. For Ron. Chapter 2: Hermione falls further into her memories while Ron falls further into despair
1. Illuminating the Dust Motes

Disclaimer: the characters, plot, and the wonderful world of wizarding England all belong to the unsurpassed J.K. Rowling.  The thoughts, they are mine. 

Filmstrips

I guess its true, then, what people say.  People in the muggle world, at least.  They say that just before you die your life flashes before your eyes.  I never believed them, of course, logic being what it is.  How would they know if dying people picture scenes from their lives like others watch old slides to take up rainy afternoons, having not died themselves? But now, lying here on the age worn stones of Hogwarts while a battle rages around me, I can believe in what they say.  I feel I must be dying, and the images swirling around in my head form the tableau of the life that is mine. It's ironic, really. Who would have thought that Hermione Granger, Hogwarts' Head Girl, one of the cleverest witches ever to darken the castle's threshold, would be undone by a simple falling pillar?  

We were all eating breakfast in the Great Hall when it started. The house elves had outdone themselves as usual (I have become resigned to their presence and function at Hogwarts, although when the opportunity still presents itself I valiantly crusade for their rights) and every imaginable breakfast food was laid out in sumptuous steaming heaps on the table.  Harry and Ron had overslept, and they were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes with one hand while stabbing their forks into sausages with another.  I let the absolute depravity of this typical behavior slide with my requisite eye roll and harrumph.  There was no reason to think that the powerful magic protecting Hogwarts and its students, most importantly Harry, was being breached as we drank our orange juice under a ceiling that reflected a clear blue sky, cloudless in nature. In retrospect, it was a bit unusual that only one of the Professors was present, Trelawney, I think it was.  I didn't notice it then, I was too busy trying to remember whether or not I'd fed Crookshanks his vitamin (which the veterinarian I'd taken him to over Christmas Holidays seemed to think he needed to retain an  "overall sheen of health". Honestly, Crookshanks is the healthiest, albeit most contrary, cat I know, but my mother still insisted on a visit.)  The first notion I had that something was not as it should be was when I felt a presence behind me. I turned to find that that presence belonged to none other than one Severus Snape, Potions Professor Extraordinaire and Master Spy.  Harry and Ron stopped mid-shovel, bits of sausage and egg hanging from their open mouths.  Snape was his usual self, he didn't quibble with pleasantries.

"Potter, Weasley, acquaint yourselves with napkins and follow me.  Miss Granger, your presence is requested as well."  Harry and Ron looked agog at the mention of napkins but complied, stuffing them in their pockets as we followed Snape and the Prefects out of the Great Hall.  I wasn't sure if the confusion in their expressions came from curiosity as mine most certainly did, or as to why Snape would wish them to make friends with a napkin.  I took it as the latter, and whispered sideways to Ron.

"You've both got egg and sausage all over your faces, you pigs. That's what Snape meant by napkins, honestly."  Ron had the grace to look embarrassed, and he quickly nudged Harry in the ribs.  As the rest of us were trailing Snape's rapid strides in silence, Harry's muffled "hey! What the bloody hell was that?" echoed quite loudly in the corridor, earning him a glare from Snape and looks of curiosity from our fellow classmates.  Ron was mopping his face with his napkin quite vigorously, and Harry followed suit as we swept into the corridor where the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office stood as a silent sentinel. As Snape uttered the password, Ron and Harry finished their ablutions and made to tuck their napkins into their pockets as I straightened the hem of my robes and brushed a few stray crumbs from my front.  As I knew that left to their own devices they probably wouldn't bother brushing off their own robes, I whispered a hint to Harry and left he and Ron on their own to catch what Snape had been saying to the Prefects.

"There is somewhat of a situation at hand.  The headmaster wishes to speak with you and requires your utmost cooperation in this very serious matter.  No questions will be asked, you will merely follow the directions you will be given and be done with it.  I would assume without having to say that nothing that you hear here this morning leaves your mouth except that which you have been authorized to disclose."

 With a glare that stopped all attempts at queries as to what exactly was going on, Snape turned on his heel and swept up the stairs leading to Dumbledore's inner sanctum.  The room was filled with wizards and witches, some familiar, some not, but all with their heads bent in hushed conversation.  The Professors (McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, and Vector, among others) were huddled around one of Dumbledore's bookcases, worried expressions creasing their brows.  In another corner I recognized Mr. Weasley and Percy, conferring with Mad-Eye Moody and Mundungus Fletcher.  Arabella Figg was speaking with Remus and Sirius, who was long ago pardoned when it became clear that he was needed to help fight against the Dark Arts, and a few other Ministry wizards who had been covered with streaky coal dust through  their floo voyages.  The lot of us students were standing in the middle of the room, eyes wide at the gathering of power in front of us, confusion furrowing our brows.  Sirius was the first to consciously note our presence, alerted by the draft caused by the swish of Snape's robes as he swept past him on his way to join the rest of Hogwarts' staff by one of the numerous and precariously laden bookcases that lined the walls of  Dumbledore's office.   He started towards us, and his question rose above the buzz of the background conversation to reach our ears and startle us out of our momentary confusion.

"Harry, alright there, are you? Have you been getting my owls?"  He reached us slowly, skirting around the clusters of people in the office.  He searched Harry's face first, before turning to greet Ron and I.  We all knew what he was looking for, Harry most of all.  Having learned his lesson the hard way, Harry now told Dumbledore, Sirius, or Lupin whenever his scar so much as twitched.  He had mentioned no pain at all to me, or Ron for that matter, in months.  Voldemort's followers had been particularly active in the London area recently, and that was far from Hogwarts.  Which is why this sudden meeting was so much more confusing.  There had been no inkling whatsoever of a planned attack on the school, and as Head Girl, I would have been informed if there was a threat, unless it was sudden.  The more I thought about it, I figured that the only event that could assemble this number of powerful aurors and officials together would be an imminent attack.  From the atmosphere pervading the room, I thought that my deduction could not be far from truth.  Harry and Ron were rapidly coming to the same conclusions themselves, judging from the looks on their faces.  Harry's face was very pale, and Ron had gone white under his freckles.  The realization was also dawning on the assembled Prefects behind us.  Sirius clapped Ron and Harry on the backs, patted my shoulder and returned to his conversation with Arabella after his greetings to us, leaving us to our own whispered musings.  We quickly determined that our opinions were indeed the same.  Just as we had begun speculating on just exactly how Death Eaters would attempt to penetrate Hogwarts' defenses, McGonagall beckoned to us to follow her into an adjoining room, through a doorway that I had never noticed on any of my previous visits to Dumbledore's office.   The room had a number of chairs in it, and we all took a seat as we waited for McGonagall to enlighten us as to the reason of our presence during what was obviously a meeting of the minds between the key fighters of the good side.  She looked at each of us before she started, her gaze seemingly penetrating each of us to the core.  She concentrated especially on Harry, Ron, and I.  Harry and Draco Malfoy were the only students in the room who were not  either prefects or the Headboy, but they were the only two students at Hogwarts working directly with the Order of the Phoenix.  Ron and I also worked with the order, but much less so than Harry and Draco. Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil were the Gryffindor Prefects, while Padma Patil and Terry Boot were the Prefects for Ravenclaw.  Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott rounded out Hufflepuff's contribution to the meeting, while Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis were Slytherin's repesentatives.  To his utter surprise, (and utmost delight) Ron was given the title of Head Boy, both for his high marks and for the skill that he demonstrated of catching students at mischief before they were able to incur any damage to Gryffindor's point status. (A skill he managed to hone because of his experience at rule breaking, however) McGonagall cleared her throat and began to speak in a calm, measured tone, as we sat up with sudden alertness in our chairs, hanging onto every word.  

"You have been summoned here this morning because we have solid evidence that points to an imminent attack upon Hogwarts by followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  As prefects, your responsibilities lie with securing the students in their towers and making sure they are safe.  When you return to the Great Hall you will lead your charges to their dormitories and seal the entrances.  Under no circumstances are students under the fourth year allowed out of the towers unless they are instructed to leave by a prefect, professor, or ministry official. This scenario is highly unlikely, however we must plan for all eventualities.  If the event does occur, the students are to exit the towers and make their way across the moors in pairs or threesomes.  This way they will be less likely to be detected than if they were in a large group. They are to keep walking until they feel they can no longer go on or as soon as they find shelter, provided the shelter is far from the castle.  They will be owled as soon as it is safe for them to return to the castle.  Food will also be provided by owl and they are to be assured that they will be recovered.  Again, this plan is only to be used as a contingency. What is expected is an attack designed to demonstrate to us that we are no longer safe anywhere.  It is not thought that Voldemort himself will be present during the attack, just his lackeys.  There is nothing we can do to stop this attack except fight it with all we can if Voldemort has indeed figured out how to breach Hogwarts' defenses.  Potter, since we know for fact that Voldemort is not going to be present it is thought that the deatheaters will attempt to kidnap you and take you to Voldemort's side. We are not going to allow this to happen, therefore, the Fidelius charm will be performed with Sirius as your secret keeper and you will be removed to a safe location. Granger, Weasley, you will stay here.  The deatheaters will expect that wherever you two are, Harry will be close by.  By staying where you are you will be helping to protect him more than if you were with him.  Malfoy, because of the likelihood that your father will be among those of the attackers, you are to accompany Mr. Potter to the safe location.  We do not want your father to be able to come into contact with you because if he did, you most likely wouldn't see the light of day again.  The rest of you are to return to your houses and inform the students of what is going on.  You are to give any student that is of the fifth year or above the opportunity to volunteer to guard the entrance to your tower and the corridors leading up to it.  In the eventuality that the aurors that are forming the front line of defense are overrun those guarding the towers could possibly be thrust into a situation where they would have to duel a full-grown wizard proficient in the Dark Arts. This should be made clear to all volunteers.  All except Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Malfoy are excused.  As soon as you have taken care of your assignments you are to appoint someone to act in your stead as a prefect of your house and return here with all those who volunteer to patrol the corridors. Is that perfectly clear?"

A murmured assent was all McGonagall needed.  She nodded curtly and the Prefects rose to perform their duties, leaving the three of us and Malfoy alone with McGonagall.  Malfoy had, to the surprise of all, turned from the Dark Side under the influence of Snape after his father had murdered his mother when she tried to prevent him from taking Draco to Voldemort.  Narcissa was the only person who Draco had ever cared for, and was, in turn, the only person who displayed any affection for Draco.  She had tried to counterbalance his father's negative influence on her son by instilling into him values that had never affected him until he saw his mother writhing in pain from the crucio curse and heard his father's dry voice, void of any emotion, utter "_Avada Kedavra_".  An uneasy camaraderie existed between Draco and Harry, as they had learned to work together under the direction of the Order.  McGonagall looked at the four of us, and motioned to Sirius, who had been listening to her diatribe from the open doorway.  He came into the room, noting, I'm sure, the paleness of our faces and the tension in our shoulders.  

"You understand why we're doing this, don't you?"  With this comment Sirius was addressing the murderous looks on the faces of Harry and Malfoy, who didn't want to lose the chance to strike back at the very people who had killed those so dear to them, and the looks of fury directed towards him from Ron and myself, that he would dare to suggest that we be separated from our best friend and our grudgingly acknowledged ally.  With the advent of his question, Sirius received more scowls, but a disinclined acceptance of the viability of the battle plan that had been presented to us.  Harry was the first to reply.

" I may understand, but I still don't like it.  I should stay and fight.  Its my fault all these people are in danger, my fault that, well, everything is my fault, really, and you're telling me to go stick my head in the sand like an ostrich and ignore the danger that you and everyone else is going to be in and know that there is absolutely nothing I can do to help defend my school, my classmates, my friends, and myself.  Bloody hell, Sirius, when?  When am going to be allowed to face him again?  I've defeated him before, I can do it again.  It has to happen eventually, Sirius, you know.  Why not let me face him now instead of later instead of letting everyone continually suffer?"  Dumbledore's voice answered Harry's query like he had done many times before, when things got too overwhelming for Harry, when his responsibilities became too crushing.

"This isn't the right moment, Harry, but all in good time, I assure you.  Now if we could perform the charms on you and Mr.Malfoy?"

Sirius hurried to Dumbledore's side, and reluctantly Malfoy and Harry followed.  Ron and I hurried to say our goodbyes.  Harry and I hugged, and then he and Ron clapped each other's backs (I'm convinced it's a male ritual, that must be performed unfailingly or else some terrible curse would be evoked, as back clapping is frequently the mode of saying hello and goodbye, to which I say, whatever happened to handshakes?)  I offered my hand to Malfoy, and he took it, saying, 

"Be careful out there, Granger.  And not to demonstrate that I believe in silly superstitions, but good luck, Godspeed, whatever else muggles say when wishing someone well."

With a wry grin creasing his features and a last look at my startled expression with his icy gray eyes, he turned and offered his hand to Ron, who grasped it quickly before they vanished into the next room to perform the charm, leaving Ron and I with a somewhat shaken McGonagall.  The professor had gotten distinctly teary eyed during Harry's proclamation, and for a minute there I had thought the tears would start spilling down her cheeks.  McGonagall regained control, however, to shoo Ron and I out into the main office, where we were to join the gathering and await the arrival of the Prefects and their volunteers.    To our surprise, Mr. Weasley and Percy had been joined in our absence by Bill, who we learned in quick stead had been brought from Egypt to help cast charms instead of break them. The polite conversation that kept the room abuzz was underscored by an undercurrent of tension that ran on a circuit through the room, erupting into loud disagreements every other minute or two.  When Dumbledore emerged alone from the room in which he had been performing the Fidelius charm, his appearance was heralded by the sudden hush that swept the assembled personage.  At the same time, a clatter on the stairs indicated that the Prefects and their volunteers had arrived.  The expressions on the Weasley men's faces as a shining copper head bobbed into view behind Dean Thomas's tall, lean form were absolutely unforgettable.  Mr. Weasley's features were frozen into a look of utter terror, stemming from fear that his daughter would be harmed as well as from fear of the punishment he knew would be waiting at home if Mrs. Weasley ever found out that he had let her precious only daughter and youngest child volunteer to help patrol against death eaters.  He knew, of course, that Ginny was a perfectly capable, even brilliant witch at the top of her class, and that she could do more than enough to help, so I believe that it was fear of Mrs. Weasley's reaction to Ginny's participation in the fight that was transforming his features into a fearful mask.  Ron's reaction was one of incredulous shock, more along the lines of "my little sister? She's just a baby, what in the world is she doing here?"  As I had pointed out on numerous occasions, Ginny was almost seventeen years old, but in Ron's eyes she would forever be "little Ginny." Percy looked like he was alternating between an imminent apoplexy and deciding whether or not to open his mouth and order Ginny back to Gryffindor tower.   Ginny is intelligent, though, and when she saw the looks on the faces of her male relations she wisely decided to take refuge behind Dean, figuring that his height would camouflage her presence and enable her to loose herself in the crowd.  This strategy might have worked, except for the fact that Ginny's hair shone as brightly as any torch.  She was saved by the fact that McGonagall was summoning all the students into the room where she had given her spiel earlier.   Ron and I followed, taking seats in the rear of the room.  This time around McGonagall's enforcer was Remus, Sirius having left with a very disgruntled pair of seventh years.  A goodly amount of fifth, sixth and seventh years had volunteered from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and all of the Gryffindors were present, minus the two left behind to keep order in the tower among the younger students.  Slytherins were noticeably absent, as only Blaise and Tracey were present.  The professor cleared her throat, as she was about to begin, and repeated the basics of what she had presented earlier, adding only this.

"You will be divided into pairs, each pair taking one end of a different corridor.  You will communicate by flashing green sparks if all is clear, and red if there is trouble.  If you are at the opposite end of the corridor when red sparks are seen, you are to assist the other pair in attempting to dispatch the intruders.  As soon as the Aurors arrive, you are to let them handle the situation and find another group to help patrol.  All seventh years will be allowed to form part of the frontline defense team if they so choose.  If not they are to help patrol.  Slytherin, Hufflepuff, see Professor Snape for your corridor assignments.  Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, see Mr. Lupin.  All seventh years that choose to back up the aurors, see me."

With her characteristic nod, McGonagall left us all to find our ways to our respective instructor.  Neville, Lavender, Seamus, Dean, Parvati, and the rest of the seventh years from the other houses joined  McGonagall in the corner where she was standing.  Her basic instructions were to watch the aurors backs, and if it looked like they were in danger to try and intervene.  We were not to engage in duels unless directly challenged, and it was understood that we were to form the last ring of defense before the death eaters would reach the towers and the students.  We especially did not want them to reach the towers for fear of what they would do to the numerous muggle born students within them.  I hadn't previously given a thought to my own welfare, and the fact that if I was in confrontation with a death eater they were more likely to kill or torture me that any pureblood.   It was clear that Ron had though, and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.  I squeezed back, to let him know that I knew.  We were assigned to the Great Hall, my partner being Neville and Ron's being Lavender.  We had been separated for the same reason they had separated us from Harry.  Together we were so much more powerful, but we presented too tempting a target.  We both knew from what Dumbledore had told us that we were high on Voldemort's  kill list, not only for psychological impact that killing The – Boy – Who Lived's best friends would bring, but also for the fact that in our own rights both Ron and I were immensely powerful.  So I would be at the doorway that opened onto the hallway leading to the corridor at the end of which Gryffindor Tower's portrait hole was located, and Lavender and Ron were stationed on the opposite side of the Great Hall, guarding the doorway that would eventually lead towards the Ravenclaw tower.  Once in place Neville and I had a bird's eye view of the proceedings taking place in the main entrance hall.  Mr. Weasley caught my eye and waved, then hurried away to confer with Professor Vector.  Neville was leaning against a cool marble column, his eyes closed and his lips moving in silent supplication.  I sat down beside him, knowing there was nothing I could say or do to help.  My own nerves were stretched to the breaking point, the most I could do for Neville was rub his back soothingly.  The fear that was settling in was getting worse with the passage of time and anticipation was building.  It had only been fifteen minutes since we'd assumed our positions, yet each second seemed to take an eternity.  All of the sudden there was a sudden burst of activity near the entrance to the castle.  The word was passed down the line that the death eaters had been able to apparate inside the grounds and that they were now engaged with the aurors on the front lawn.  Neville and I stood up, gripping our wands tightly, transfixed on the two double doors and ten aurors that were the only things that stood between Voldemort's henchmen and us.  Across the expanse of the great hall Ron's eyes met my own.  It was then that the doors crashed open.  A  ministry wizard stumbled into the hall, shouting,

"Get ready, get ready, get ready…they're coming…to get you…" before he collapsed.  Suddenly the Hall was filled with a swish of robes as aurors apparated from their other points in the castle.  Neville ran to warn the patrollers that the death eaters had indeed managed to enter the Great Hall, while I took refuge behind the pillar that was decorating the archway.  I could see the whoosh of Lavender's robes as she whisked around the corner on the way to warn the Ravenclaws.  Ron too was taking shelter behind his archway, eyes panning the hall, taking everything in.  The Great Hall was filled with the reflections of light emanating from the wands throwing curses and hexes in the entrance hall.  It looked as if the aurors were being pushed back, slowly, and eventually black robed men appeared under my line of vision.  It was then that I looked at my watch.  That was one muggle amenity I had never given up.  Even though there was a rather simple spell that you could cast to get the exact time, I preferred the weight on my wand-arm of the silver plated watch my grandmother had given on my thirteenth birthday.  It was simple, unenchanted, and thoroughly muggle, one of the only things I owned that remained so.  The simple tick of the second hand was calming and familiar, but it was also a dreadful reminder that time was passing, and that the longer the battle went on, the less likely it was to be a decisive victory.  Before I could fathom what had happened, the Great Hall was suddenly filled with dueling wizards.  I brought my wand up and was contemplating who to go after and trying to get my bearings when I heard it.  A powerful spell deflected off the pillar at my side, leaving a hairline crack behind that steadily widened until the stone began to crumble.  I could hear the tick of my watch echo three times.  Three seconds.  Three interminable seconds in which I had to realize that I was possibly in danger not from a spell or hex, but from the pillar upon which I had previously leaned my head.  Three seconds were not enough.  I had just heard the fourth second tick by when I whirled to escape the inevitable fall of the pillar.  Its funny, really, how I could hear that second hand ticking even with screams and curses being shouted not less than one hundred feet away.  I guess now that it was letting me know that this would be the last time I would be able to consciously recognize the passage of time, for I wasn't quick enough to move.  The pillar caught me over the shoulder, knocking me to the ground with such a powerful force I lost consciousness immediately.  My plunge into the dark tunnels of unconsciousness was marked by one thought.  I prayed to the God I had forsaken as a child, as Catholicism condones witchcraft, and witchcraft was the one thing I would not forsake for my belief in God.  

"Lord, please don't let me die.  I have so much more to do so much more to give…"

A kaleidoscope of colors exploded behind my eyelids and I thought no more.  In the depths of my mind I journeyed back to London and into a classroom in which the sounds of the click of slides and the whir of the projector filled the air.  Only this time instead of a slide show on Catholic Saints and their Attributed Miracles a different picture was playing.  In my subconscious I watched as the first picture appeared, the light of the projector illuminating the dust motes floating in the air.  The script scrolling across the blackboard in gold lettering spelled out

"The life of Miss Hermione Granger, in Memoriam"  

It was then that I recognized the classroom.  It was in the basement of my mother's church, St. John's, in the suburbs of London.  Was I dead then, and observing my funeral, or was I dreaming from the depths of oblivion?  The room was filled with people, acquaintances of my parents, friends of mine from primary school, and at the front of the classroom, my parents, grandparents, and other family members.  My mother was sobbing into a handkerchief, and tears were streaking down the cheeks of my grandmother and aunts.  The priest, Father Lawrence was speaking.

"As we gather here together in the name of the Lord, I want you all to picture Hermione and the times you spent with her, and I want you to run these times and feelings through your heads like a filmstrip, and I want you to know that she will always be with you in your memories.  Let us sit in silence and reflect in our memories of our beloved sister in Christ."  I watched dumbfounded, as all in the room bowed their heads.  And as I thought about it, I wondered.  What would these people see?  None of them knew who I really was.  My true friends would be miles away from here, in Hogwarts or Ottery St. Catchpole, perhaps.  The people here in this room would see the face I had presented to them during the summer holidays, that of a studious girl home from St. Anne's Catholic School in Surrey, instead of that of one Hermione Granger, Head Girl at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  What had the people that I had known and loved for seven years remember?  I know that they would know more than those here in this room, but the essence of me, my thoughts, would be lost.  My filmstrips, what would they show? My thoughts wandered, combing through the strands of my memory…

A/N ~ Hope you all enjoyed that, please review and let me know whether or not I should post the next chapter…thanks for reading!

            ~ flourishes


	2. Crying for them all

Filmstrips 

Chapter Two

Crying for them all

_"Weep for the lives your wishes never led."_  
  


Disclaimer: It's not mine. I'm just borrowing J.K. Rowling's world for a little while.

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_"My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night;_

_ But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light."_  
-- Edna Saint Vincent Millay (1892-1950)__

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Images flickered through my mind. I saw my mother, my father, my family…my so-called friends from primary school. The filmstrip they had compiled was playing. The pictures started when I was baby, and I gradually progressed in age. There was the formal portrait that I'd posed for at the age of six – my ankles crossed demurely, showcasing the pretty black patent leather shoes that adorned my feet rather than the frizziness of my oft-combed hair. Those shoes were the first things that indicated I was everything but normal. Mum had purchased the shoes at my insistence. We'd been out shopping for my school uniform, as I was about to start my first year at St. John's Primary, the local school that was affiliated with my mother's parish. A requirement for girls was one pair black dress shoes. We'd headed to the local shoe shop, Mum intent on purchasing a sensible pair of sturdy flats. It wasn't often when I was a child that I was stricken by a sudden flight of fancy, but in the window of Fleet's Shoes was a pair of patent leather dress shoes, black with a tiny suggestion of a heel. I wanted those shoes, fiercely. And when we left Fleet's that afternoon I was clutching my fanciful shoes to my chest, determined to walk into St. John's with the prettiest shoes in the whole of my year.

I wore those shoes everyday for years. I never grew out of them. They seemed to grow with my feet. Inside, where the size was marked, they were an eleven when the rest of my shoes were ones or twos, but they always fit. The funniest thing, though, was the way no scratch or scuffs ever marred the perfect patent leather. Although I wasn't the most active of children, most of my shoes still scuffed. These never did. It scared my mum, I think. She thought I must be spending my pocket money on new shoes, but when she found my piggy bank full I don't know what she thought. She threw them out when I was about eight. Only problem was, the next morning they were right beside my uniform, waiting for my feet to slip inside them. My mother is a dentist; usually nothing fazes her. The sight of the shoes that she personally placed in the garbage shiny and sitting by my uniform was a bit too much for her. That's the only time my mother ever fainted. It was funny, although she took away my sugar free snacks for laughing. 

The next pictures that flashed through my mind were from my primary school years. Those years were spent primarily reading during lunch and recess and endearing myself to my teachers while alienating myself from peers for knowing every answer. There'd been only one time when I hadn't been the teacher's little darling, and that had really been no fault of my own. 

When I was in my third year at St. John's, I lost control of my anger and my hidden magic. Jimmy Murphy was the class bully. He'd been the one responsible for coming up with my nicknames. Hermione is naturally a difficult name for even adults to pronounce, but young children mangle it horribly. When my classmates were through with it Hermione had been mangled to a horrific Hermy. Which, of course, was then discovered to rhyme with "Wormy". Jimmy had anger problems, according to the school psychologist, whose sister was one of my parents' hygienists. 

Well, Jimmy was bouncing the golf ball the psychologist had given him to help control his anger. Apparently, whenever he felt angry, he was supposed to take it out on the golf ball. Unfortunately, that meant that Jimmy bounced the golf ball all the time, not because it relieved his temper but because he found that the clunk the ball made on the marble floors of St. John's Primary was supremely annoying to all who heard it. In this particular instance I was sitting on the steps outside, waiting for my mum to come pick me up to take me along on her errands. Jimmy had just ended one of his sessions with the school shrink. He walked outside to wait for his parental unit or guardian, or whoever had spoiled Jimmy so horribly. 

I was minding my own business, buried deep in whatever thick book it was I was reading at the time, when Jimmy started bouncing that infernal ball to a little ditty he'd created that used my rhyming nicknames – which probably would have taken all of his expendable brain cells – his literary talent went up one notch in my estimation – he'd discovered rhyming! I tried to ignore him, really, I did, but gradually my attention shifted from my book to Jimmy's words and I got madder and madder. I could feel my face reddening and my fists clenched when I stood up, whirling to face him. My control shattered into pieces. When the red fog cleared from before my eyes I realized that the fog hadn't been the only thing red I'd seen. Jimmy's crisp white collar was stained with the blood dripping from his nose. I looked down at my clenched fists. I hadn't moved, yet Jimmy's nose was clearly as damaged as if something had hit it. And then I realized what had happened. The golf ball had flown up and connected with the bridge of Jimmy's perfectly sculpted nose. He was screaming long unintelligible sounds of pain – that attracted the Mother Superior. Of course Mother Mary Agnes didn't believe me when I'd told her the truth. My explanation didn't stack up with the fact of Jimmy's bloody nose. So I earned two detentions. One for violence and one for lying to the mother superior. 

Luckily the one other very obvious manifestation of my magic was attributed to a freak accident. No one ever realized that I'd lost control of my temper again during the school play of my last year at St. John's. I was mad at Sally Dormer for taunting me about my costume – ironically, I was dressed as a stereotypical witch complete with warts, black greasy hair, and a long crooked nose. She'd made so many snide remarks and barbed jokes – made even crueler by the fact that she was in charge of the costumes – that I was fuming. When Sally pranced onto stage in her princess outfit I saw red again. One second her chair was right under where Sally was gracefully lowering her posterior and the next it was four inches back and Sally bounced. My parents – who'd realized that whenever I got mad or unusually upset odd, random, inexplicable events seemed to occur around me – taught me that maintaining my temper was very useful skill. 

Even my mother – who could recognize one of my tempers easily because she'd had so much practice with them - never realized that Sally's bruised pride (and bottom) were the result of my odd ability to cause strange occurrences. Mum had first hand experience with my tempers. I'd shattered her prized china teapot once when she'd tried to force me to drink tea instead of chocolate. Once she'd ended up at Worthington Green's Public Library when we'd argued about whether or not she would pick up the book that I'd put on hold – it had just come in – and well, one minute she was in front of me, obstinately refusing to go to the library for one measly book when she had other things to do – and the next, she was gone. She showed up about fifteen minutes later, book in hand and no memory of either our argument or her strange disappearance. I figured later that some obliviators had gotten a hold of her after the Misuse of Magic office received the report of my little temper tantrum. 

The filmstrip that my family and non-Hogwarts acquaintances had compiled still played. After I got my Hogwarts letter everyone assumed that I had gone to boarding school in Surrey. Most other girls at my primary school went on to St. Mary's School for Young Catholic Ladies in the next neighborhood. My parents had asked around – no one in the neighborhood knew of anyone else who attended St. Anne's – if they had it would have become obvious that I didn't attend there. 

When I came home for Christmas Holidays of my first year, the doorbell rang one night to reveal Sally and her group of giggling girls. Apparently they were interested in what boarding school was really like. I got my first real practice at lying – and I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't bought a Sneakoscope or some other magical lie detector in Diagon Alley and concealed it in my trunk. When my mum had told me who was at the door I panicked. I wasn't allowed to use magic at home – how on earth was I supposed to conceal all my books in the few minutes it would take Sally and Miranda and Leonora to climb the stairs? 

In the end I just threw a blanket over my bookcase and hoped that the girls were as insipid as they'd been last year and still only interested in boys and makeup and other typical girly topics that I didn't have any inclination for. Fortunately they were only interested in what the boys at St. Anne's sister school, St. Andrews, were like. I had had the presence of mind to snap a few Muggle photos of my mates at Hogwarts – in case any of my prying, clueless extended family members were to inquire about friends. I was able to show Sally and her gang snapshots of my Gryffindor classmates in Muggle clothing taken on weekends. They giggled over Seamus, cooed over Harry "look at his eyes! They're sooo green!" and glanced appreciatively at Dean. Ron elicited the most response. "OOHHHH…he's tall! I love freckles…. and red hair…" The picture that caused the most stir by far was the one that pictured Harry and Ron and I together, in front of the common room fire. Miranda glossed over the photos of Lavender and Parvati gossiping together. Every vacation for the rest of my Hogwarts years – at least those that I had returned home for – Sally and Miranda and Leonora dutifully showed up for what they termed 'exciting boarding school gossip.' We forged somewhat of a tenuous friendship – renewable yearly – that I was semi grateful for my first four years of school. 

But the summer following fourth year the secret I had striven to hide for four years from my neighbors was almost exposed. Miranda had come over, eager for the gabfest she'd heard had occurred during Leonora and Sally's visit. Apparently she was misinformed, as those two had done all the gabbing and I had only provided brief, succinct answers when asked questions. I put up with the girls because my mother was so eager for me to have friends. She'd never met Harry and Ron – even though I talked about them (omitting the rule breaking that was ever present in our friendship, however) I don't think she thought that it was possible for me to have two male best friends, especially since she'd gone to an all girl's school. We were sitting cross-legged on my bed, engrossed in conversation (I'd found that when separated from Sally and Leonora, Miranda was actually a very intelligent person who could hold her own when discussing any topic dealing with the Muggle World) when there was a sudden flash of light and the lanky body of Ron Weasley unfolded from the fireplace in the corner of my room in which flames had previously been dancing merrily. 

Needless to say Miranda was a bit more than startled. She didn't scream. She just, I don't know, goggled for a few seconds and fainted dead away. She'd been sitting on the edge of the bed and as a result her rather limp body just folded in on itself and she landed on the floor, with a rather jarring crash.

Ron's voice was tinged with incredulity, laughter, and a tiny bit of apprehension.

"Erm…I guess I should have owled first, then. To make sure you weren't, ah, umm, receiving Muggle visitors?"

I think my glare spoke volumes and my silence even more, as Ron quickly made a fire call home and fetched Percy to help deal with the mess he'd inadvertently caused. While Ron's head was buried in the fireplace, Miranda's shock wore off a bit. As he turned around, I silently handed her some bits of sugared candy I'd snuck home from Honeydukes. I'd read somewhere that sugar helped with shock. When Percy apparated with a "pop!" Miranda's eyes got even wider. I had to give her credit; she didn't faint again or say anything, which I thought was a bit odd. Most Muggles I know would have been convinced that they needed a visit with a mental health counselor if people suddenly started appearing before their very eyes. Percy surveyed the scene with an incredulous eye, muttering.

"Wait till the Ministry gets hold of this, it'll be the end of Mum yet, what were you thinking, you ….you…."

Ron just stood there. He was obviously seeing some humor in the situation that I wasn't, for his shoulders were silently shaking. Percy was puttering about Miranda, making sure she hadn't hurt herself falling off the bed, while I gave Ron what I figured was a good dressing down – although I wished Mrs. Weasley were here, she'd have given him a real beauty.

"I would like to know what you think is so funny, Mr. Weasley. Miranda knows now, thanks to you. Its not safe for anyone but my parents to know and they're in enough danger as it is…what if Death Eaters were monitoring the house, they could get both of us at once, what are you going to do, obliviate Miranda? You know what memory charms do to people…remember poor Mr. Roberts at the Quidditch World Cup? What will your parents say? And Dumbledore? Heaven forbid the people who think you're responsible? Why on earth would you floo here without owling first? What did you…."

Ron's voice was dripping with undisguised laughter.

"Do you realize that you just said all that without breathing? "

If I would have had my wand – and been able to use it – I don't think I could have been held responsible for whatever hex I had chosen to inflict. And I knew some beauties that not even Percy would be able to reverse – thanks to Harry's training for the triwizard tournament and my summer reading – much of which dealt with defense against the dark arts.

"One question at a time. First, you just fed Miranda – is that her name? - one of Fred and George's new creations. They mixed some of their products in with your stuff from Honeydukes on the train. I was coming to tell you that, as George only let it slip last night. Didn't want you to sprout two heads like Ginny did awhile back. They slipped something into her cake when Mum was out visiting the Fawcetts. I think what you gave her was one of the Silencio Sugars or some equally odd product name that makes use of the literary device of alliteration. She should be able to talk again soon. It's not just the shock. Oh, and that's why I was laughing. That and you just did a remarkable impression of my mother. Are you taking a correspondence course or something in the scolding of Ron and other miscreants?"

"Get back to the point, please, Ronald."

"Which one?"

"I don't care if they cite me. Where's my wand?"

"Okay, okay. I'm aware of the danger. I was just afraid you'd attract attention if you happened to start acting like a squirrel – that one was inspired by Dean in Moody's err, well, DADA class, you know – or sprout two heads, or do something else that they didn't tell me, the wankers. And Hermione? I'm sorry but I think Miranda will have to be obliviated. If someone starts asking questions or something and she just happens to mention a red head popped out of your fireplace things could get pretty dodgy for you here. The charm won't have to be as powerful as the one the Ministry used on the Roberts'. It shouldn't harm her. She'll just be a little disoriented for a while. She'll be fine, really. About Dumbledore…my intentions were good – I was being responsible by coming to tell you what Fred and George had done. So I don't think there'll be much of a problem there. And the ministry won't have to get involved – Perce can do a pretty mean memory charm.

I didn't owl first because Hermes was "busy, delivering important ministry correspondence" but I think just flying a letter over to Penelope's, and Errol was recuperating. He flew into the window again, after Mum sent him to Surrey with some food for Harry – the Dursley's are starving him again. Ginny was borrowing Pig – when I asked where she sent him she mumbled something unintelligible and turned a rather odd shade of magenta. Which of course led me to believe she's conducting some sort of secret correspondence with none other than Harry. So as you can see, no owl. Even though my hilarity would know no bounds if you just happened to spontaneously start pawing the air like a squirrel, I don't think you would have appreciated it. Dad's had you connected to the Floo Network in case there was an emergency and I thought this qualified as a minor one. And besides, I missed you, good friend and all that you are. "

That earned him some points. And what he had said made sense – but I wasn't so sure about how his parents would react, or how mine would, for that matter, if they were to suddenly walk up the stairs and see Ron and Percy in my bedroom. I think I smiled shyly, and said something along the lines of you're right, lets go see my mum and dad and see what they say - or something equally inane. My mind wasn't currently processing anything other than the fact that Ron had said he missed me – and had gone pink while he said it. 

My mum and dad had been astonished when Percy and Ron walked down the stairs with a silent Miranda and I. Miranda's Silencio Sugar had worn off about five minutes after we'd finished explaining everything to Mum and Dad. They'd been considerably upset but in the end quite understanding. Miranda just looked around dazedly.

"What the …."

Percy obliviated her before she could say anything else. While Miranda stared blankly at the wall – Percy had assured my parents that it would take her no more than five minutes to return to normal – He said his goodbyes and disapparated with a "pop!" My parents were a bit stunned at that - "Where'd he go?"- and I didn't want to get into a long drawn out explanation of Apparition – even though I'd explained it quite thoroughly before- so I turned to Ron.

"You'd better go before Miranda requires any more explanations."

"What? No thank you for keeping you from turning into a mime? That was the one I'd forgotten about earlier. And they didn't tamper with all your Honeydukes stuff. You can tell what's real and what's not if you look carefully. Fred and George marked all their products with three w's if you look closely enough. You know, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and all that…right, well, I'd better be going. G'nite, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione, I'll owl about you maybe coming to the Burrow if Dumbledore gives Mum permission…she'd like nothing better, you see…ah, right. Well, take care of yourself, Hermione. I'm off."

He gave me a shy smile and I said a quick good bye. There was a flash of light and off he went. Mum frowned a bit and said,

"Honeydukes? Isn't that the candy shop in …."?

Drat. Now she'd know I'd snuck bits of candy home. I changed the subject, quick.

"Miranda, did you want to see those photos?"

"Yes, of course, Hermione. I'd just felt a bit off-color for a moment. Let's go to your room and see."

Well then. It appeared that Ron had been reading during his summer vacation. We certainly hadn't covered Memory Charms in class yet. Reading up on memory charms certainly hadn't been assigned as holiday work, either. Hmm, I thought. Maybe we were both thinking the same thing. With Voldemort rising again every shred of knowledge might help us in some way. I knew that Harry was definitely spending time reading – when he wasn't performing manual labor, that is. Maybe I could try and see if Mum and Dad would mind if he came to visit for a little while before going off to the Burrow. That is if Dumbledore okayed it. All the time Miranda spent poring over the pictures in my room I spent thinking, rather absently answering Miranda's queries. 

That summer was the last I spent whiling away in the throes of childhood. Oh, there was tension, fear, and a bit of uncertainty. But there was still plenty of laughter and light-heartedness. I made many fond memories that summer, too many really to recall. When I returned to Hogwarts that fall I returned to a much darker world, one on which I don't like to dwell overly much. My filmstrips, I knew when they'd end. They would end on August 31, my last day at the Burrow and my last as a child. 

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Suddenly my trip down memory lane was interrupted by a high, pitched scream. I realized that someone must have found me, lying crushed under the stones. I'd read places that victims that are unconscious can hear things, they just can't respond. I wanted to scream that I was here. That I wasn't gone. I was just trapped in the depths of my mind by the excruciating pain that was sure to greet me as soon as my consciousness was regained. I wondered who had found me. The scream – it was more like a wail, really – had been very high, very feminine. It wasn't Neville. I'd sent him off to warn the others in Gryffindor Tower. Hopefully he'd made it. The scream was followed by the sound of stone rasping on stone and the pressure of a familiar hand on my outstretched wrist. The hand was calloused, strong, long-fingered. Ron. It had to be. If it had been able to, I think my heart would have sung. He was all right. He was alive. The scream would have been either Lavender, who'd been partnered with Ron, or Ginny. But Ron and Lavender had been guarding the Ravenclaw's dormitory, which was on the opposite side of the Hall from where I currently was. If Ron were here, looking for me, it would have to be after the battle had concluded. So my bets were that Ginny had been the one accompanying him. 

I felt the pressure that had been anchoring me to the floor slowly ease, and the first slivers of pain worked themselves into my recognition. Suddenly there were arms lifting me, cradling me, to a strong, solid chest. Hands smoothing the hair over my brow, running lightly over my limbs to check for broken bones, brushing bits of dust and dirt from my cheeks. Who knew that Ron could be so gentle? But it was undeniably him. He smelled of smoke, sweat, and that something else that I had identified as solely Ron. I think it might have been a soothing salve Molly had given him to relax his muscles after Quidditch or defense practices. Whatever it was Ron wore it all the time. It was an earthy smell, made out of herbs that would have grown in her garden at the Burrow. It was his scent and it lingered on the robes of the person cradling me. He had stopped checking for injuries and now he was just holding me, tightly. 

And I knew that he felt the same as I. I'd hidden my feelings for him for years, and I think he must have done the same. That summer after fourth year, I'd thought I'd felt something. I'd buried it when I got back to school, though. It just didn't seem appropriate to live and be happy while so many were dying. Besides, the thought of losing Ron –or Harry – was to me unbearable. I knew that losing Ron if he would have become something more than cherished friend might have been my undoing. I'll never know. I never let anything happen. Neither did he. Now it might be too late for me. This pillar, it might have accomplished what Voldemort and his minions could not. I could die. I can feel myself grow weaker. Ron was whispering to me.

"Hermione, please, come back to me…you have to…I need you. We need you. You're my anchor, you're my rock. I…I love you, Hermione…we're going to win this war, you know. And when its over we're going to have a house and as many kids as you want…and we'll live happily ever after…you'll be right by my side and I'll stand by yours…and Hermione, please come back to me."

He's crying. I can feel his tears. They're falling on my cheeks. His words give me strength. I'll get better. I'll wake up. I have to. For Ron. And for the circle that it is my destiny – and Harry's and Ron's and Ginny's and Draco's- destiny to create. Even as I tell myself this I can feel my body losing its tender hold on life. I can feel my breath slow. Ron's tears are falling harder. I am crying too, inside. Crying for them all.

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Through the haze of pain that enveloped me I could hear footsteps approaching. There were three sets. It's amazing, really, how much sharper one's other senses become once one has been lost. One person was striding with long purposeful steps. Another was taking short, quick steps, striving to keep pace with the other two people. The last set of footsteps that I can distinguish is lighter, closer. I've heard that tread before, many times. Ginny is coming, with help.

There is someone kneeling beside Ron. A whiff of pungent potions, salves and herbal medicines mixed with the acrid smells of burning, sweat, and fear assails my nostrils. Ginny has brought Madame Pomfrey, then, and someone else.

Ron shifts me in his arms. There is silence for awhile. Then Madame Pomfrey's familiar voice rings through the still air. 

"Enervate" 

Nothing happened, of course. Madam Pomfrey probably figured I'd been struck by a curse of some sort – but all of those are reversed by Enervate. Some in the wizarding world have trouble believing that magic isn't the cause of all things. Madam Pomfrey was apparently having one of those moments. Who could blame her? She'd probably been faced with many curse related injuries earlier. 

"What happened…she didn't respond to Enervate… there are no spells that can do this…"

Ron answered her. His voice was shaky. His tears had stopped but he hadn't yet regained control. "I think the pillar fell on her shoulder. It must have been hit by a powerful spell, and she couldn't get out of the way fast enough. Is she going to be all right?"

Ron's voice is full of fear and tinged with desperation. He's right to be worried. The voices are fading. I'm falling further and further away, losing my grip on all that I hold dear. The only thought in my mind is for Ron. I must hold on, for him. But I don't think I can.

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Someone is speaking. I can hear the rumble of their voice but not their words. I'm falling, faster. The picture of Ron in my mind is blurring. I think my body has given up. I wish I could say goodbye. I wish that Ron could know how I feel. I pray fervently that they can cast the circle without me. I wish that they succeed. I wish for so many things that in the end none of them really matter. The only thing that matters, truly, is love. Love that I have so much more of to give. Yet that love will probably die with me. Not probably, will. My life is fleeting – there is nothing…

The blackness has been replaced by light. Dazzling, golden, radiant light. It is pulsing with strength, energy – and that strength is flowing through my veins. I am being buoyed by the light – I can feel myself coming back, returning to my body whereas my soul had previously been slipping away. 

The warmth is moving, from being centered near my skull to just above my collarbone. The sensation is somewhat like that of the feel of a Muggle soda sliding down one's throat. Bubbling, yet at the same time sharp. It is the feeling of being alive and the promise that I will live to see the end of the old and the beginning of the new. I know that no matter how long it takes, someday, somewhere – Ron and I will stand side by side, arm in arm, watching the sun set on a peaceful world.

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_"Hope, like the gleaming taper's light_

_ Adorns and cheers our way; _

_And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray."__  
-- Oliver Goldsmith_

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               In order to understand a key concept in this chapter, it is highly recommended that you read _Momenti__ Morti, _a fic that parallels this one from Ginny's point of view.  _Outside Looking In _deals with Ron's point of view throughout _Filmstrips.  However, the stories can stand alone._

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A/N 

 First off, I need to explain any abnormalities that occurred during the chapter. The shoe sizes are American and based loosely on what my sister and I can recollect about what are shoe sizes were 9 years ago for me and six for my sister. I didn't look up the UK sizes because I figured it was such a little detail that it didn't really matter (there's that laziness issue too). The golf ball is real and owned by one of my friends. He happens to have the same annoying habit that Jimmy does, although I'm not sure what its cause is. The golf ball hasn't broken any noses yet – but it just might if I have to hear it one more time. Sally Dormer's falling off the chair actually happened at an Ensemble concert – only difference being bsaxfen didn't need any magical help to fall on his arse. So, he gets a lot of credit for some of the material in this chapter. "Silencio" means silence in Spanish. I don't take Latin, so I figured Spanish would be close enough – and besides, it was in Spanish class that I wrote that scene so I guess it was one my mind.

The inclusion of the word "wanker" is a nod to my beta, Mauvvie. She discovered it awhile ago and has been bugging me to include it ever since. Not being British, I'm also not aware of any negative connotations it might carry or its exact definition, so…yeah. It's a just a funny word that Mauvvie and I happened to like.

The fact that Hermione can hear while unconscious comes from me having heard, read about or been told that people who are in comas retain their sense of hearing and my two previous experiences of having passed out. Granted, both of those instances occurred during recess at my former elementary school. But what I do know is that when the soccer ball smashed into my face – after being kicked with great force at close range – everything went black and I fell down. I could still hear my friends shrieking "Blood! Blood!" So yeah, that was fun. It also helped to exacerbate my irrational fear of flying objects. I duck when something comes within twenty feet of my head. I'm not very good at Battleball in gym class, obviously. 

Anyways, my second instance was the result of an old wives tale that was circulating around the playground. Apparently, one of the girls had heard if you turned around in a circle fifty times, put your back against a tree and someone pushed – hard- on your chest, you would pass out. I was the only one who was adversely affected by this. Although I think it came more from striking my head on a tree root after I fell down because I was so dizzy, I did pass out. And I could still hear voices, although they were far away. That's where the reasoning for Hermione's being able to hear came from. Besides, it fit the plot really well. So please over look that if it doesn't really happen that way. 

Anyhow, this chapter was the result of a bright, cheery Saturday on which I sat at my computer with the windows in my room open and my stereo blaring in an attempt to block out the rap/pop music coming from next door. The main ideas were formulated during various classes – namely oral comm, but algebra also helped too, since my betas are both in that class. The whole thing was cemented together during an uninterrupted span of six hours. I forgot to eat lunch, so if any of this is a bit disjointed blame it on hunger pangs. 

Many thanks to betas Mauvvie and Ellie Starmaker. (Ellie, I'm sorry I didn't give this to you in a class I knew you could ignore – instead I had to give it to you during science! Lo siento…) Also thanks much to the reviewers of all of my stories. They definitely make me write faster and are greatly appreciated. Sorry for the wait – its been more than a month! (For reasons see A/N posted before this chapter) Anyways, thanks much for reading and please review! If anyone wants update notices, my email is flourishes@suscom.net. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

The quote directly following the chapter title is from  Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-73)


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